


Imagine working in a music shop Murdoc frequently visits

by Admin Cock (Admin_Cock)



Series: Imagine Scenarios feat. Murdoc [3]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Music Store, Other, Realistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 06:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10938810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admin_Cock/pseuds/Admin%20Cock
Summary: A quarter to two. He should be here any minute. As if your simple thought had summoned him from whatever Hell he came from, the small bell above the door jingled, signaling his on schedule arrival.





	Imagine working in a music shop Murdoc frequently visits

It had been a slow day, which wasn’t too common, especially when it was just you working. Usually people were flooding out the door and the noise was unbearable in the shop with just one person working, so it was a nice to catch a break. You found yourself lounging back, feet propped up on the counter before you, reading one of the numerous Guitar World magazines your coworkers had piled up in the back room. Most your workers only kept them in case someone came in asking, but you were one of the few who actually found some of the articles interesting. Folding the cover over your thumb to check the date on the printing date, you found your eyes glancing over to the little alarm clock that sat under the counter.

_A quarter to two._

_He should be here any minute._

As if your simple thought had summoned him from whatever Hell he came from, the small bell above the door jingled, signaling his on schedule arrival. You didn’t bother with a greeting, he came in every day you had a shift so you were quite familiar with one another at this point, but you did lift your eyes over the edge of your magazine to catch a glimpse of what he was wearing today. Ah, it was the outfit from the new video. You always did like that striped shirt and those boots. With a satisfied smirk, you flicked your magazine slightly the straighten out the pages and continued to read.

You didn’t need to look up to know what the bassist was doing, he did the same thing every time he was here. He would wander around the store for a while, pretending to look at the basses and other items before grabbing either a new pack of picks or bass strings, both being the same brand every single time. A quiet chuckle passed your lips thinking about it, licking your thumb to flip to the next page of the article. His rough voice suddenly broke through the silence, causing you to accidentally grip the paper a little tighter. “Oi, love! Where’s the bass strings at in ‘ere?”

_You’re in here every other day, old man._

_I don’t think need my help finding anything at this point._

Not even looking up, your jut your thumb out towards the opposite end of the store where his favorite brand of strings were located. “They’d be over that way, sugar.“ You could hear him grunt in satisfaction before his heavy boot steps wandered off in the direction you pointed. You slyly eyed his ass as he walked away, a grin breaking your stoic demeanor. For someone who had just hit 50 he was still as handsome as the day Clint Eastwood was released.

The sound of items being dropped on the counter before you broke your train of thought, causing you to lower your magazine slightly to look up. Seemed he got both picks and new strings today. You had no need to even punch in the numbers into the register, knowing the prices on his items by heart. Your eyes lowered back to the gorgeous photo of a guitar in your magazine, muttering out a simple, “That’ll be £29.48.” He jumped slightly, as if you had jolted him out of a trance, before fumbling around his pockets for his wallet. He eventually pulled it out of one of his back pockets, opening it to grab the right amount of money before he stopped, his eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Hey, how’d you know how much it was without even puttin’ it in?”

This finally got you to put down your magazine, placing it face down under the counter before putting your legs down and standing to meet his gaze. “Murdoc, you’re in here every day I’m here working. You always come in, pretend to look, and grab either a pack of new picks or new strings.” You held each item up respectively as you continued on, placing them back down to lean yourself against one hand on the counter. “Not to mention they’re always the same brands, and I’m pretty positive you don’t use picks based on how calloused your fingers are and this particular brand of bass strings takes a lot longer than every other day to break.” A knowing grin and formed on your lips as you watched the man before you. You had caught the legendary Murdoc Niccals completely off guard. He wasn’t expecting you to read him like an open book. He was absolutely flustered, and you were loving it.

He sputtered for a moment, trying to come up with something to say, which caused you to laugh softly and reach under the counter for one of your shop’s business cards. You retrieved the pen you always carried in your work jeans and spoke smoothly as you wrote on the back of the card. “But, if I’m wrong and you’re actually replacing your strings every other day, then maybe you should give me a call.” You flipped the card up to him, which he accepted almost hesitantly. He eyed you for a moment before glancing at the small rectangle in his hand, his eyes instantly widening when he spotted your name and number with a heart drawn next to them. Going slack-jawed, he looked back to you, standing there with your arms folded proudly and winking at him. “I could get you in for a full-body tune up if you need it.”

And with that, the 50 year old, green skinned bass player shuffled out of your music shop, still holding the business card as if it were a long lost relic. Once you heard to familiar rumble of his Geep fade away, you nodded firmly and moved to lounge behind the counter once more, freezing when you spotted his picks and bass strings still resting on the counter. You chuckled and swiped them up, trading their places with your magazine as you sat back down and propped your feet up.

_He’d be back for them._

_He always comes back._


End file.
